


Love Languages

by WodensSkadi



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Frottage, How Junkrat got matching patches with Roadhog, M/M, Panic Attacks, Trans Junkrat | Jamison Fawkes, Trans Male Character, Valentine's Day, no description of genitalia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 09:33:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13678992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WodensSkadi/pseuds/WodensSkadi
Summary: Junkrat has a panic attack and Roadhog helps him through it. They both have been on opposite ends when it comes to communicating, especially about the state of their partnership/relationship, but the cheesy holiday finally helps them meet somewhere in the middle.





	Love Languages

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ArmsShanks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArmsShanks/gifts).



> Written for Shanks (Gaining Experience)  
> Beta read by Thyme (What's Best for You)  
> Help from Silly (Duplicity)
> 
> Happy Valentine's Day!

Shrill squeals from tank trends, stentorian growls from motors, and the reverberating rumbles from both gatling guns and cannons fired from bastion units assault Junkrat’s mind as he claws at his hair. Curled up on his side, he’s desperate to pull his hair down over his face and ears in a bid to silence all of the noise. But all he manages to accomplish is the removal of more of his already dwindling brittle hair. 

A meaty hand the size of a dinner plate scoops him up by his harness and tosses him to his feet. 

“Move, you idiot!” The voice is deep and distorted as if someone is yelling at him in a tunnel. “Rat, fucking run!” 

He can see an obese man running ahead of him and it’s like a faulty spark plug that finally connects and ignites the air/fuel mixture powering an engine. “Roadie!” 

Everything comes racing back: stealing a hover car, intentionally crashing the vehicle into the storefront of a prestigious jeweler, the mad dash to steal as many gems and bills as possible, the double cross at the exchange point for the uncut diamonds, gunshots from the undercover agents, the explosion of his mines placed in a nearby building, the screech of metal as it came crashing down…and the invading omnics and their horrible weapons- No. No, that wasn’t happening. 

Junkrat lurches forward after his friend as he tries to shove the intrusive thoughts and memories far behind him. If he can run fast enough, he can stay ahead of them, remain here in the present. 

Roadhog is already seated on his larger than life yellow motorcycle with the engine idling. A plume of exhaust and smoke from burning rubber is left in their wake as Junkrat finally reaches the sidecar and scrambles in.

It’s hours before they reach the run-down motel they’ve been staying in. Roadhog takes plenty of back roads so as to attract as little attention to their old-fashioned transportation as possible. It tends to stand out like a sore thumb when traveling next to hover cars, and this evening is much busier than normal. People are out and about, walking hand-in-hand and he counts ten sidewalk vendors selling flowers and stuffed animals. Junkrat acts as his eyes, constantly surveying their surroundings and any possible tails behind them as they traverse about. 

When they roll up to the parking spot in front of their room, the scraggly junker nearly falls on his face in his haste to scramble out of the side-car. Roadhog grabs their bags of gear and loot and tosses them at Junkrat before he covers the bike with a tarp. Junkrat bounces from one foot to the next as he waits for Roadhog to unlock the door and allow him in. Once he gains entry he’s quick to dump all of the jewels and cash on the threadbare linens. 

“What’re we gonna do with these, mate?” Junkrat pokes at the uncut diamonds with a sneer. It’s all their fault things went to shit.

Roadhog grunts and strips off his heavy gear.

“Tomorrow? I’m not saying we act on it tonight, but we should at least come up with a plan.”

There’s a snort from the heavy man as he sidesteps into the bathroom, clearly done with the conversation before it even begins. 

“Fine! I’ll just do it all meself - like always!” Junkrat yells as Roadhog closes the bathroom door. He stands there, frowning and twitching, entirely too amped up from the day and last few weeks in general.

He hops up on the bed in a crouch, streaking the arguably clean sheets with dirt; Roadhog will be pissed, but so what. He rummages through the different bags - there had been pink bags next to the register with red hearts and golden arrows imprinted on the side, and now carry all of the cash they managed to snatch. They look pretty corny for such a high-end luxury brand, he thinks, but he wasn’t in the business of selling jewelry, at least not legally. It was probably a trendy gimmick; a number of nearby stores had similar romantic motifs emblazoned on their storefront windows with static clings. What chubby angel babies are doing with a bow and arrow, or how that conveys an encouragement to shop is beyond him. It’s just more shit he doesn’t understand, having lived in Junkertown most of his life.

With a grumble he starts separating the uncut stones from the rest; those are the only ones they can sell. The rest have miniscule engravings that announce where they’ve come from and their theft is sure to be in the news. Jamison inspects a marquise cut diamond, counting the individual facets that litter the top of it. No matter how beautiful they are, or how far away they travel they’ll always carry the mark of their origins and no one will want them. It seems as if nothing can escape the scars left from the past. He rubs his arm above his prosthesis absentmindedly, suddenly uncomfortable with the gems before him. And the dingy bed, the musty room, the stale air-

Junkrat can’t breathe. His throat feels open but it’s as if his lungs have been squished flat, or someone has welded an obstruction in his chest that prevents him from drawing air in or out. Did Roadhog sit on him? Or did he get crushed under the building he blew up earlier? Are the bastions driving over him? Was all of today a result of his addled mind? The last months or years? Wait, so did that mean Roadhog did not exist?

That terrifying thought knocks the wind out of him and he draws a gasping breath; it still doesn’t feel like enough. He takes great gulps of air in rapid succession until his vision becomes blurry from hyperventilating. Everything is wrong and he isn’t safe and he is alone-

“-at. Junkrat…! Jamie! Breathe. Slowly. In through your nose. Out through your mouth.”

Steady hands rub his back soothingly, as a familiar baritone guides him into a calmer breathing pattern. 

It’s not until he opens his eyes and moves his clenched fists from his face that he realizes his body is stiff with locked joints and straining muscles. He sees Roadhog’s face, bare and still glowing pink from washing up. The image of his partner wobbles as he feels like his whole being cracks, and a giant sob bursts from his mouth and uncontrollable tears fall.

The heavy hand on his back remains but does not move. It helps ground him, reminding him that the omnics are far away, he isn’t dying under a building, and his best mate is still here. He’s beyond embarrassed with his emotional outburst and his inability to control it. His nerves still feel raw and the lingering fear remains.

“Where are we, Rat?”

Junkrat’s confused but manages to stutter out, “M-m, mo-motel,” between heaving breaths.

“Who am I?”

“Roa-Road…” Junkrat takes a deep breath, unable to speak while choking on his tears. “Roadhog.”

“Can I move you?”

He nods his head vigorously and when muscular arms lift him up he can’t help but cling to them. He’s nervous Roadhog will push him away, but right now he needs the reassurance, so he tightens his grip. When the gruff man sits down on the bed with Junkrat resting on his chest and gut, yet makes no move to pry the wiry man off, he relaxes minutely. 

“Just, breathe with me.”

Junkrat still isn’t sure what happened, but every time he attempts to speak he feels his heart race right back up his throat and Roadhog is reminding him to breathe again. It takes a while, but after a half hour of matching his breathing rate with his companion’s, he feels less shaky. 

“You ever have a panic attack before?”

Is that what that was? “A wut?” He looks up at Mako’s face with scrunched up eyebrows. “Ya get them too?”

“One of the other members in ALF - she used to get really anxious before we’d go out. Thought she was having a heart attack at first. But she explained it to me afterward, how to help her come down from one, and how she kept some of them at bay.”

“So ya just cuddled some sheila until she calmed down?”

The body underneath him shakes with laughter and he grips Mako’s stomach tighter with his legs, afraid he’ll slip off.

“Why would I cuddle her?”

“Yer cuddlin' me! Thought that’s how ya fix anxiety assault!” Junkrat can feel a lot of his nerves relaxing as his previous indignation with Hog returns.

“Attack, not assault.”

Junkrat screeches in annoyance and Roadhog brings his head back down to rest on his shoulder with a smug grin. 

“Feel better?”

“Yer an ass, Hog.”

“If it happens again, just breathe like I showed you.”

Prickling spikes of fear skitter back up his chest and Junkrat gnaws on his bottom lip for a moment before speaking up. “When it happened, I thought ya was gone, Hog… thought I made ya up. Stupid walking scrap heaps was attacking like when I was an ankle biter and I was alone and all of this was a dream. How am I supposed to remember something ya said if I don’t think yer real, mate? Memories shit and I must be crazy if I can’t remember WHEN I am.”

Roadhog goes silent but his hold on Junkrat tightens and he moves his hand along his back again. 

Junkrat, exhausted for once, lets his eyes shut and enjoy the rare comfort his partner is sharing with him. It’s not often they get the chance to slow down, and rarer still he feels calm enough to relax with Hog. He normally only gets this sleepy after going on a bender in his workshop back in Oz. Whenever he finally drags himself back inside Hog’s barn the other man is seemingly always waiting. He helps Jamie to bed and then curls around him like one of his stuffed Pachimari. Sometimes they root. He likes those days. He wishes Hog would do it even when he isn’t worn out. He figures it must be easier for Hog to pretend he’s someone else when he’s too tired to prattle on and on. But he decides the illusion of affection is better than nothing, and Hog must share a similar mentality since he’s the one to initiate things when Junkrat is in a subdued state.

So it’s a surprise when Roadhog lays him down on the bed and doesn’t join him. Instead, he stands up and rummages through his belongings. He’s crestfallen that Hog isn’t following their normal routine this time. 

“What’re ya looking for?”

“Give me your shorts.”

That perks Junkrat up immediately and he shimmies the tattered shorts down and off his bony hips and legs before tossing them to the floor. “How do ya want me?”

Roadhog snorts. “Quiet.” He picks up the discarded shorts and turns around to face his bag again.

“I thought we was gonna root,” he says, disappointment evident in his tone, and his shoulders sag.

“You should rest.”

“Roadie, c’mon.”

Roadhog doesn’t react to his whining so he dramatically flops back and scowls at the ceiling. Screw this, he’s not just gonna lie around while the big lug ignores him. Junkrat huffs and sulks off into the bathroom instead - refusing to listen to Roadhog’s desire for him to sleep since he’s not going to listen to his desire to fuck.

Junkrat locks the door for good measure but it’s not as if Roadhog tries to get in. He twists the knobs to start the water and resists the urge to turn them hard enough to break. He steps under the spray, prostheses and all. He’ll dry off everything afterward, he’s still angry and raw and doesn’t care to feel vulnerable by removing them. It makes showering a bitch, since his peg leg keeps slipping, and he has to carry most of his weight on his left leg. Scrubbing away the dirt and grime reveal pale scars that bring him comfort; they serve as a reminder of his experiences, which proves he’s here in the present. He takes a moment to trace his fingers along the thin, twin scars at the bottom of his chest. These are, by far his favorite. He spends maybe ten times as long as he normally does in the shower, wanting to find every reassurance of the passage of time that he can uncover.

When he finally steps out to dry off he admittedly feels more relaxed. His entire body had felt achy from clenching so tightly during his panic problem, attack, whatever it’s called. Now, after a hot shower, his muscles feel loose and his body malleable, like silly putty. Sitting on the edge of the tub, he takes his time wiping down his prosthetic arm and leg, as well the contact points. Hell, even if the asshole doesn’t want to have sex, maybe he’ll be willing to massage his stubs now that he’s clean. He looks for his shorts to step into before he remembers Hog took them. Normally, he walks about naked after a shower but he feels exposed enough so he ties the towel around his waist and leaves the bathroom in a heavy cloud of steam.

There are containers of what smells like greasy Chinese food and a red heart-shaped box sitting on the small desk next to the bed. All of the jewels have been cleaned up, and Roadhog is lounging on the bed, his shorts in hand with a needle and thread.

“What’s all this?” He walks over and rummages through the food since Roadhog remains silent, apparently thinking his question didn’t warrant an obvious answer. He places all of the food on a chair and drags it back to the bed so that they can eat in comfort. 

“Forgot your gift.”

Junkrat’s head snaps up to look at Mako’s face. “What gift? Ya got me a pressie?”

Mako coughs and nods towards the red heart he left on the desk. “Chocolates.”

He scrambles back across the bed to snatch up the container. He glances over his shoulder at the older man with a suspicious frown, hesitating to open the box. “Why ya buying me lollies? And fixing my pants?”

Roadhog sighs like it’s obvious and he’s asking stupid questions and Junkrat shrugs and tears into the packaging. He picks out the ones containing coconut. Disgusting.

“I’m giving you some of my extra patches. And, you’re supposed to do sappy shit for your partner on Valentine’s Day.” 

Chocolates are crammed into his mouth as he makes his way back over. He doesn’t bother to finish chewing before speaking. “Valentine’s Day? Is that like a day for best mates? Woulda got ya something too, Roadie,” he says with a titter and swallows his mouthful of candy. “Thanks for patching me shorts I guess. Didn’t know me arse was hanging out,” 

“It wasn’t.” Roadhog bites the end of the string he’s finished using and tosses Junkrat’s shorts to the side. 

Junkrat sets the box down and moves his hands to his hips. God, but the other man could be infuriating. “Would it kill ya to do more than grunt in reply, or use more than a few words? Why ya being so nice? And don’t give me some fake friends’ day as an excuse.”

Suddenly, Junkrat’s wrist is seized by Roadhog’s meaty hand and jerked above his hand, pulling them face to face. His other hand balls into a ready fist; so sure Roadhog is about to hurt him for being annoying. 

“You’re fucking dense. It’s not- it’s for couples.”

But that - an acknowledgment of their relationship isn’t a punch, or at least not a physical one. He knows his expression is fluctuating widely between defensive anger and shock.

“We’re a couple…! Since when?” 

“Idiot,” Roadhog sighs. He rubs Junkrat’s arms before clasping them and drawing him closer so their lips meet in a kiss.

Junkrat squirms until his legs are wrapped around Roadhog’s stomach, giving him enough support to press back into the next kiss. “Yer the drongo,” he grumbles between their lips. “Never said shit before now, how was I ‘posed to know? Thought ya just tolerated me.” He pulls his wrist free and sits up straight to stick his tongue out.

Hands slide up his side and rough thumbs roll across his nipples. He melts against the touch and rolls his hips, aching for any physical affection. He almost regrets not losing the towel earlier, but it helps provide an interesting texture to rut against.

“We sleep together,” Roadhog deadpans. One hand dips down to palm his ass beneath his towel.

“So? Coulda been thinking ‘bout some other bloke, or sheila,” he whines, grinding down against Hog’s belly.

“Is that what you do?” 

Junkrat can hear the possessiveness in his voice and his whole body breaks out into goosebumps. “Course not. How the fuck can I pretend it’s anyone else? Yer huge. And why would I want to? Fucking perfect, Hog.” He groans and gropes Roadhog’s robust chest. He had hated the small mounds on his own body, but Hog always looks masculine, no matter how soft his body feels. “Always wait ‘til I’m half asleep. Figured it was just convenient for ya to fuck me ‘cause I’m around, and as long as I’m quiet ya can just think about someone else.”

“Nothing’s convenient about you,” Roadhog says with a chuckle. He cups Junkrat’s face and rubs his thumb against his cheek.

“Speak for yerself, coulda told me ya felt the same sooner,” Junkrat pants while nuzzling into the warm palm, hips still gyrating against Roadhog desperately.

“People lie. Actions speak louder.” He lets his hand slide down from Junkrat’s face to rest on his chest and heart.

Junkrat gasps and rolls his hips faster, already so close. “Nothing’s louder than me, mate.”

“Then say it, Jamison,” Hog says, his voice so low, Rat feels it rumble low in his body.

“Fu-Christ, Mako!” Junkrat cries out when he feels himself fall over the edge shockingly fast, his orgasm finding him sooner than expected. Feeling too satiated for embarrassment, Junkrat wraps his arms around the man’s fat neck, pressing his cheek against his. “Love you.” 

Roadhog returns the embrace and presses a kiss to a bony shoulder. “If you panic again, the patches will remind you. I’m real.” It’s not quite the words he wants to hear, but they’re full of affection regardless, and it soothes his heart.

“Roadie…” If Roadhog thinks he’s a sap for the way his voice warbles he doesn’t say anything. Just hugs him tighter when he clings to him.

There’s a long moment of intimate silence before Junkrat asks, “You done with my pants?” 

“You gonna nut super fast in your jorts too?”

“Piss off, ya cunt!” It’s not like he could help it with Roadhog being so damn sweet while touching him like that. He slides off of the big man’s belly and snags his shorts from Roadhog’s hand. He turns them around and sees the new patches added onto the back. His fingers run over the thick stitching and takes comfort in knowing they won’t run the risk of coming off easily. 

“I see ya put ‘em on me backside, ya pervert.”

“Had to add something, you have nothing worth staring at back there.”

Junkrat slowly looks up from the thoughtful gift to gape at the smirking man who is now reclined against the headboard with his arms crossed behind his head. He splutters in indignant rage. “Add something… nothing worth - Mate, I’ll have ya know I have the tautest arse in all of Straya! Not a scrap of fat; just toned muscle!”

Roadhog’s laughter is harsh and loud, like when he’s on a bloody rampage and unimpressed with what stands before him. It’s very mocking. Junkrat throws his dirty towel at his stupid face and slips his shorts on, pleased when Hog is too slow to block it.

“You’re disgusting, Rat,” he says while flicking the gross towel to the floor.

With a toothy grin, he bounces back onto the bed and reaches for a container of noodles. He slides up next to Roadhog and digs in with gusto, slurping noisily. “Don’t act all posh now. Ya like me the way I am!”

Roadhog snorts but hooks an arm around him while he wolfs down a handful of vegetable egg rolls.

Junkrat leans against Roadhog as they enjoy their meal and watch television together. And by the time he’s willing to go to sleep, and Roadhog has dragged him into his arms, he gets it. He’s been waiting all this time for Roadhog to say he cares, but that’s not how he communicates; his Hog’s a man of few words. He’s all action and gestures. And taking this new revelation into consideration, he’s been pitching woo all day at Rat. When he thinks even farther back, there’s been evidence of his feelings for a while. Roadhog massages his stumps whenever he’s dealing with phantom limb pain, he brings over food if he notices Rat’s been in his work shed for longer than a day, and just like today, he’s always sure to keep Rat involved in holidays that have long since been abandoned by the rest of the outback - an attempt to give him a “normal” life and excuses to have fun. A face-splitting smile takes over Junkrat’s face and he curls up closer to the big man. “Love ya too, Roadie.”


End file.
